Of fighters and bruises
by surprisedreader
Summary: Stiles, as a human, can't do the things his pack can do. He can't help then when any big bad ugly shows up. He can't fight in any battles they fight with any real chance of winning. So he does the only thing he can do for them to make life a little easier. Throw a few punches at anyone who says a bad word about them. a touch of Derek/Stiles and a lot of Stiles/pack in a Family way


Stiles glared at the old wooden floor below his feet wishing his angry gaze could light the place on fire again.

He was in trouble.

He knew he was in trouble before he even set foot in the old burned house of a one Derek Hale.

Truthfully, he knew he was in trouble as everyone pilled out of their too nice cars and their Alpha was standing on the porch looking pissed and no one would look at the powerful man.

Now let's be honest, he knew he was in trouble before that even, when he was in his jeep on the way over and Scott seemed torn between staring at the side of his face aghast and looking at his own hands helplessly resting in his lap.

Hell who was he kidding, he knew he was in trouble when Lydia and Jackson had to pull him off the other boy in the middle of the hall, screaming and swearing and basically losing his mind, for the whole fucking population of Beacon Hills High School to see.

But in all reality though he didn't realize the amount of trouble he would be in until he saw the ugly black and blue marks that decorated the right side of his face and the blood coming from his scrapped up hands.

Derek was going to flip.

It wasn't his fault. They wouldn't understand of course and he couldn't explain it to them. Couldn't even begin to try. How could Stiles explain to his pack that he…a weak little human, a sheep amongst the wolves, was defending them?

How could he not? He had just been close enough to hear the bastards had call Lydia a whore. Jackson a fagot. Whisper about Scott being on 'roids and Allison being his supplier which was why he fucked her.

He had seen the way Lydia had blinked twice in rapid succession at hearing the words of the low life's across the hall she shouldn't be able to hear. Had watched Jackson shift awkwardly away from his best friend Danny afraid of the label he wasn't supposed to know he was called. He pictured Scott and Allison so in love being put down as nothing more than drug dealing trash. About all of there close ties with the murdering psycho path that was Derek Hale.

He snapped.

They could talk about him all they wanted. He was used to it. It didn't even faze him anymore. But to hear those things being said about HIS people. HIS pack mates! He couldn't let it go unchecked.

He could hear Derek pacing back and forth across the room from him letting out small growls of annoyance, to which Stiles responded with a heavy huff of air to show his own displeasure.

He felt more then saw Derek move with his creepy super speed across the room and stop dangerously close to the sitting teen. Stiles refused to look up. Refused to meet those eyes he just knew would be filled with anger and lack of understanding. Derek lifted Stiles face with his left hand turning it to the side to look at the bruise that was a deep ugly purple surrounding his eye and part of his cheek bone with a nasty green outline. The irritated red swelling had gone down some, thank God for small miracles because if Derek had seen the mark that first day the man would have ripped someone's head off.

Stiles stubbornly kept his brown eyes firmly fixed on the spot on the floor he was trying to ignite before he felt fingers brush his bruise in a way that was far more tender then he was expecting making him look up sharply into blue eyes.

"What. Happened." Both words were enunciated sharply accompanied by Derek's deep growl and Stiles grit his teeth to keep from saying a word.

Normally they told him he talked too much. Not today. Today he wouldn't say a God damn word because it was all he could do for them.

He wasn't going to be that guy today.

He said nothing and Derek ran his hands through his hair in anger. A habit he picked up to keep from slamming people into walls. To be honest Stiles missed the wall slams. It gave him a reason to be close and he knew his dark haired lover would smell the arousal on him.

He already knows where this is going to lead. He's going to be silent. Lydia and Jackson are going to rat him out for the fight and Scott will growl at them for not cutting in sooner. All the while Allison will pat his arm to keep him calm shooting Stiles sympathetic looks like she could possible understand what he goes through. How could she.

Sure they're both human but she is strong. A hunter by birth right, trained and on the same level as the werewolves, as far as he was concerned. He was the only one. The only one who couldn't help with anything. The only one they had to protect when shit hit the fan. Oh poor sheep don't let anyone get to close; his bruises don't heal like ours.

After Derek growls and snarls and demands answers no one is going to give him he'll send them all home with a snort of distain. Then when everyone leaves he'll take Stiles up to his room, lay him down on his poor excuse of a bed and try and fuck some sense into him.

He will grip hips too tight to be considered comfortable and bite too hard on the back of Stiles neck making him cry out. He will jack his hips forward hard enough to make the human know he's going to feel this for hours after they are done and all the while Stiles will grip the thread barren sheets and bit his tongue.

It will be Stiles penance for allowing the fight to happen and Derek's apology for not being there to stop it.

The alpha once told Stiles that his body told Derek more truths in bed then his mouth ever did out of it. Maybe it was true. After the sex they would lay tangled together and Stiles would cry soundlessly still not willing to break his hard won silence and Derek would hold him with a sigh staring up at the ceiling waiting for him to calm down.

Then no one would bring it up again. At least not with words. They would all walk a little closer to him. They would give him things of theirs to mark him as belong to them to reassure him of his status in the pack. They would shoot looks at anyone who dared watch them for too long and they would talk louder whenever they heard someone gossip about them again to keep Stiles from hearing.

It wouldn't stop him though.

He would defend them.

Even if he could only do it in the halls of Beacon Hills High by getting in a scuffle or two until people learned to shut the fuck up about his pack.

He would come home to his family and Derek would have a fit everyone else would stare to hard at the soot stained floor while the Alpha demanded to know what the hell he was thinking.

And again later that night when everyone was gone and Derek tried his damnest to fuck some sense into him again and Stiles body would tell his secrets.

That he loved all of them so much it hurts. That they could hear what people said about them at school and around town and did nothing and he just couldn't live like that. Not when it was something he could actually help with and they couldn't.

Stiles would cry soundlessly and Derek would hold him. Later that night the rest of the pack would show back up and they would end up all mashed together on a bed that by all rights should be two small for six of them and Stiles would be content.

What was one or two bruises anyway. Nothing that a little doggy pile and a werewolf kiss or two couldn't fix.

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